

c <:.<:_ c c 
< c < cc <: 

sat L • << CC C C <C^«CS 



rcci 



- SERMON, 



PREACHED AT 



THE CHURCH IN BRATTLE SQUARE. 

ON SUNDAY MORNING, JANUARY 19, 1840, 



DESTRUCTION OF THE LEXINGTON BY FIRE, 



JANUARY 13TH 



BY S. K 



. l^thrTo 



Pastor o^the Church. 



PUBLISHED BY REQUEST. 



BOSTON 



JOHN H. EASTBURN, PRINTER, 

No. 18 State Street. 



1840. 



0 



5 



A 

SERMON, 



THE CHURCH IN BRATTLE SQUARE, 

ON SUNDAY MORNING, JANUARY 19, 1840, 

ON THE 

DESTRUCTION OF THE LEXINGTON BY FIRE, 



JANUARY 13TH. 



BY S. K. LOTHROP, 

Pastor of the Church. 



PUBLISHED BY REQUEST. 




BOSTON : 

JOHN H. EASTBURN, PRINTER, 

No. 18 State Street. 




,^1 



SERMON. 



JOB 1, 19. 
I only am escaped alone to tell thee. 

I feel confident, my friends, that I shall be 
meeting the state of your minds, as well as obeying 
the dictate of my own feelings, if I take my subject 
this morning from real life, and gather my sermon, 
not so much from some passage of scripture, as from 
that sad and appalling calamity, the news of which 
a few days since filled all hearts with sorrow. 

During the last few weeks or months, our commu- 
nity has borne a melancholy resemblance to the 
scenes connected with the text. As messenger after 
messenger came unto Job, bringing him tale after 
tale of loss and disaster, of the swift destruction of his 
property, and the death, violent and sudden, of those 
in whom his affections were bound up, even so has it 
been with us. Every week, every day almost, has 
been fraught with some sad intelligence. Scarcely 
have our minds recovered from the shock of one, ere 



4 



another story comes, borne on the wings of the wind, 
to rend our hearts, by the fearful images of suffering 
and sorrow it calls up. A city in the southern sec- 
tion of the republic, far off in its location, yet near to 
us in many social and commercial relations, is visited 
by pestilence and fire. Even as in Egypt of old, the 
voice cf lamentation, mourning and woe goes up 
from every dwelling, for in almost every dwelling is 
one dead; and while disease is making these dwell- 
ings desolate, a conflagration buries them in ruins. 
Night after night, a fire sweeps through large quar- 
ters of the city, spreading terror and dismay before it, 
leaving ruined hopes, and prostrate fortunes, and 
wide spread suffering behind it. While we are ex- 
pressing our sympathy, and in the midst of our efforts 
to relieve and comfort, a fearful tempest sweeps over 
our own borders. Traces of its ravages are left in 
various quarters of our city, at our wharves and in 
our streets. But they are slight and insignificant. 
We think not of ourselves. Comfortably housed and 
guarded, we feel not the cutting blast. But as we 
hear, amid the watches of the night, the wild wailing 
of the tempest without, the rush of the angry wind, 
mighty and irresistible, our thoughts instinctively turn 
to those, who have gone down to do business on the 
great deep, and a fervent, earnest prayer goes up from 
our hearts to that God, who holds the waters in the 
hollow of his hand, that he would guard and preserve 
them. We look on the morrow for the record of 



5 



disaster. We know that in that fearful war of the 
elements, some must have been overwhelmed. But 
the truth is far beyond even our worst fears. We 
thought that perchance some solitary bark might 
have been driven upon the rocks, we heard in fancy 

" The solitary shriek, the bubbling cry 
Of some strong swimmer in his agony." 

But our thoughts and our fears are but faint images 
of the reality. Not one or two ships, but a fleet is 
wrecked, — not here and there has a solitary individ- 
ual perished, but multitudes. In some places, the 
shore is literally strewn with the bodies of the dead, 
the mangled, frozen, wave-tossed forms, that but a 
few hours before were instinct with life and health 
and strength, whose hearts beat warm with affection, 
and high with hope, and whose thoughts were dream- 
ing of home, of wife and children, and all the kind- 
ly charities of life. 

Familiar with the shore of the north-eastern coast 
of our Bay, I have often tried to picture to my imag- 
ination the fearful scene in and about that spot, 
where so many sought a harbor, but found a grave. 
But I cannot, — I cannot take it all in at once, and sur- 
vey, as a whole, that wild scene of destruction and 
death. My eye involuntary turns and rests upon a 
single point; I see a single vessel going to pieces up- 
on the rocks, some rods from the shore. The waves 
are dashing and breaking over it, — one after another 



6 



is swept off, till two stand there almost alone. Of 
these, one is a father, far passed the meridian of 
life, the other a son, in all the vigor and strength of 
early manhood. Who shall tell the communings of 
that moment, — the thoughts, feelings, and memories 
that rushed through the mind of each ? Suddenly a 
sound comes to us on the breath of the tempest, 
" Father you shall not perish if I can save you," — and 
the young man redeemed the pledge. He fastens a 
rope safe and sure to the body of his father, and lash- 
ing the other end to himself, with one strong em- 
brace, one fervent prayer, a blessing craved and a 
blessing given, he springs from the wreck. Is he 
not instantly overwhelmed by the waves ? Can it 
be that man can buffet with those angry surges? 
There is something in his heart mightier even than 
the elements. It was a fearful struggle, — again and 
again he seems overborne, and about to resign himself 
in despair to a watery grave. But the image of his 
father, — the father that had nurtured and guarded his 
infancy, is in his mind, the image of his mother, 
left solitary in her far off dwelling, rises up before 
him, the filial love of a noble heart is strong within 
him, and through this he perseveres and triumphs. He 
is borne unharmed through the surf, he stands secure 
upon the firm earth, — the signal is given, and in a few 
moments, by means of the rope, the old man is brought 
safely to the shore, to be locked in the embrace of 
his deliverer and his child. 



1 



This is no fancy sketch. I have been told, my hear- 
ers, that this thing occurred ; and we should find many 
others like it probably in effect, if not in success, did 
we know all the incidents of that scene of peril and 
disaster. Out of this full fountain of woe and suf- 
fering, therefore, we can gather at least this meas- 
ure of good, — -the evidence of the noble disinterested- 
ness, the deep, enduring sympathy, that dwells in the 
heart of man. 

But scarcely have we ceased to think and to speak 
of this calamity, ere another is brought to our knowl- 
edge, unexpected and unlocked for, not so general, 
in its nature, yet appealing to and touching the deep 
sympathies of all. The sky is fair, the atmosphere 
serene, the wind, though cold and wintry, is light and 
gentle, and an unclouded sun sheds over nature all 
the beauty and gladness that can ever dwell in a win- 
ter's landscape. A mother's heart is beginning to beat 
with joy. Her countenance, which had worn the anx- 
iety of "hope deferred," is lighted up with a smile, for 
she feels that under such a sky, even a wintry ap- 
proach to our coast is safe, and that the ship, richly 
freighted with her maternal affections, will soon 
arrive. It may come tomorrow ; — alas ! tomorrow 
dawns only to bring death to her hopes and her 
dwelling, — to bring us all a sad and mournful tale, how 
that in the wildest track of wild sea, the fire-spirit 
overtook that ship and the majestic bark, "that had 
bounded over the waters like a conqueror, became a 



8 



mighty pillar of fire in the vast desert of the ocean," 
and how, while some escaped, her son and others of 
our fellow citizens, around whom gathered the affec- 
tions of fond hearts, were lost. There is, there must 
be, it seems to me, for I cannot speak from experi- 
ence, there must be <c a fearfulness in the solitude 
of the ocean, which every one must feel, under 
whatever circumstances he traverses its mighty 
depths. Night, with its storms and tempests, may 
add to the sensation; but there is in the very vastness 
of the waters, in the awful uniformity of their mur- 
murs, and in their unchanging aspect, a loneliness so 
deep and perfect that the human heart has no pas- 
sion of hope or fear, which it does not deepen or over- 
come. The moonlight of a desert solitude, the gloom 
of evening or midnight in a ruined city may carry the 
traveller's thoughts through years of bygone happi- 
ness; but it is in his passage across the deep, in the 
hush and loneliness of the ocean that the visions and 
bodings of his own spirit become palpable and real." 
This it is, that causes the misfortunes, that happen in 
the heart of the seas, to awaken in our breasts the 
deepest sympathy with the sufferers. Their complete, 
absolute separation from the rest of mankind, makes 
us feel for them, as if they had been the inmates of 
our own dwellings. And if they have actually been 
known to us, if they have lived in our neighborhood, 
if our hands have ever exchanged with them the 
warm grasp of friendship and affection, if they have 



9 



mingled in our social or domestic joys, our hearts 
yearn in pity and tenderness, as we think of their 
fate. No tomb shall plead to their remembrance. 
No human power can redeem their forms. The white 
foam of the waves was their winding sheet, the winds 
of the ocean shall be their eternal dirge. 

The news of the burning of the Harold therefore, 
touched the sympathies of all of us, even of those 
who did not personally know the sufferers. Men talk- 
ed of it at the corners of the streets, and expressed 
to each other their sorrow and regret. In every cir- 
cle, gathered around the fire-side of every dwelling 
in the city, it was spoken of, and trembling prayers 
went up from all those, who had a son, a husband, a 
brother, traversing the vast deep. 

A few days pass, and our thoughts are yet wan- 
dering to that far off spot on the lonely ocean, where 

" The death Angel flapped his broad wing o'er the wave," 

when they are suddenly called back, and called 
home, by a calamity which appals and almost be- 
numbs sensation, by its fearful nature and a magni- 
tude not yet ascertained in its full extent. I need not 
name it. I need not describe it. It cannot be de- 
scribed. The circumstances attending it are few, 
but terrible. Imagination can hardly paint a scene, 
in its immediate aspect, or its ultimate and swiftly 
approaching issues, more full of horrors, to distract 
the calmest mind, to unnerve the stoutest heart, — 

2 



10 



" horrors which must have appeared to start up from 
the wild caverns of the deep itself." No warning 
was given to prepare the thoughts, no omen of peril 
had been noticed. The tempest and the whirlwind 
give signals of their approach, but no signal is here 
to tell of coming danger. In an instant almost, that 
unfortunate company found themselves assailed by an 
enemy against which they could make no defence, 
and from which they soon lost all means of escape. 
And three " only have escaped alone to tell" the 
tale, to give the brief outline of the beginning of 
that scene of terror and dismay. How it ended, and 
the details of its progress, what were the movements, 
the efforts and sufferings of the multitudes gathered 
upon that burning deck, none can tell. 

The physical suffering endured in those brief hours, 
must have been severe, but it sinks into insignificance 
before the mental suffering of a situation so bereft of 
hope. To be shipwrecked is terrible. To be driven 
by the fierce hurricane upon an iron, rock-bound 
coast, is fearful and appalling. But in shipwreck 
there is room for action, and consequently for hope. 
There is something to be done, some effort to be 
made ; a steady eye, a calm, self-possessed mind, a 
courageous heart, may avail something towards es- 
cape, and if death come at last, it comes only after 
noble efforts and struggles. To die in battle is ter- 
rible. Few scenes of this world's suffering and woe, 
can equal the battle field,— that scene of dreadful and 



indiscriminate slaughter, where multitudes are assem- 
bled that death may mow them down with greater 
facility, that, not individuals, but thousands may be 
levelled at a blow, that the mighty and renowned, 
the young, the healthy, and the vigorous may perish 
in a moment, amid piercing groans, and frantic 
shouts, and bitter shrieks, and the roar of the deadly 
thunder, which strews around them companions in 
misery. But in battle there is action, and to the 
very last there is hope, hope of success or escape. 
The mind is buoyed up and pressed onward to effort 
and endurance by this hope, and if at last death 
come, sudden and violent, there is, it may be, the 
consciousness of a noble duty nobly done, of life 
periled in a holy cause, and sacrificed, if sacrificed 
it must be, to freedom and truth. 

But here, after the first few moments, there was no 
room for action, effort, or hope. In the w 7 ild confu- 
sion and dismay of the first outbreak of danger, the 
only means of escape had been utterly lost. And 
there they stood, the two companies, helpless and 
powerless, gathered on the bow and stern of that ill- 
fated boat, — the devouring fire raging to madness be- 
tween them, throwing its lurid flames to Heaven and 
casting a terrific brightness upon the yawning waves 
that stood ready to engulph them. There was no 
longer any help in man. None could hope to live for 
an hour in that wild wintry sea. They had nothing to 
do but to wait, to suffer, and to die. If ever any 



12 



situation required manhood, fortitude and the power 
of religious faith, it must have been this. Let us 
trust, brethren, that these were not wanting. Let us 
trust that those brief hours were not all hours of pain, 
of grief, of unmitigated anguish. Let us hope that, 
while glad memories of the past thronged thick and 
fast upon their minds, and burning thoughts of home, 
of wife or husband, of children and kindred, no more 
to be seen on earth, tore with anguish their hearts, 
there also came in upon their souls, sweet and holy 
in its influences, that faith, mightier than any human 
affection, stronger than any mortal peril, which lifts 
the spirit to God, and gives it peace in death. 

That this faith was present to many, with a calm- 
ing and sustaining power, w r e have reason to hope. 
That it was present to one I cannot doubt; and 
from among the many husbands and fathers, sons and 
daughters, brothers and sisters, who, torn from their 
homes on earth, have found, I trust, a home in 
Heaven, I may be allowed to select and notice one, 
the only one with whom I had an intimate acquaint- 
ance, whose unobtrusive goodness and genuine worth 
have won for him an abiding place, in the memory, 
and the hearts of all, who knew him well. 

Exiled from his birth place, not for any crime, but 
for his love of liberty, his adherence to what he 
thought right and truth, Dr. Follen, brought to this, 
his adopted country, the same principles, the same 
noble sentiments, the same love of freedom and of 



13 



truth, the same devotion to what he deemed duty 
that had banished him from his home. It is now 
nearly twenty years since he sought a refuge in our 
land, bringing with him no patent of nobility, but 
that which God had stamped upon his soul : and he 
needed none other to secure him that place in soci- 
ety to which his worth and talents entitled him. 
During his residence among us, he has honorably fill- 
ed some of the most important literary offices in the 
community. As a Professor in our University, those, 
who enjoyed his instruction, will bear testimony to his 
faithfulness and industry, to the unvarying kindness 
and christian courtesy which marked his manners. 
As a preacher, earnest and persuasive, as a pastor, 
devoted and affectionate, full of good words and 
works, carrying with him to the houses of mourning 
a heart of quick and tender sympathies, in the 
dwellings of the happy and the prosperous, remem- 
bering the injunction to " rejoice with them that 
do rejoice," he secured to himself the love and re- 
spect of all. Even those, and I myself was among 
the number, who differed from him in judgment and 
opinion on some subjects, honored and revered the 
man. His character deserved and inspired these emo- 
tions. The qualities, for which Dr. Follen was re- 
markable, were his ardent love of truth and his fear- 
less devotion to it, his patient perseverance, his high 
moral purpose, his warm and tender affections, his 
quick and wide sympathies with humanity, and espe- 



14 



cially and above all, the simplicity and purity that dis- 
tinguished his every thought and word. He was 
truly an upright and sincere man, "in whom there was 
no guile.*' In the prime of life, with a mind vigorous, 
active and richly stored with learning, a heart full of 
noble purposes and aspirations, his death is a public 
bereavement. From literature and religion it takes 
an ornament, from truth and virtue, an advocate, 
eloquent in character as well as speech, and from an 
extensive circle of friends, an object of warm and 
confident attachment. Upon the sanctuary of pri- 
vate sorrow, we cannot, we dare not intrude. There 
is desolation there which none but God can reach 
and comfort. Our sympathy is with the living, — 
for him we fear not. Death in however terrible a 
form, could have no terrors to him. It could not find 
him unprepared, and those who have seen his " calm 
look, where Heaven's pure light was shed," will 
feel assured that in that last hour of mortal agony, 

" Faith o'er his soul, spread forth her shadowless her sunny wing, 
And from the spoiler plucked the dreaded sting." 

Confident that christian faith thus calmed and sus- 
tained him, I would humbly trust that others also had 
a blessed experience of its power, that with many the 
last moment of sensation was full of that peace which 
no earthly vicissitude can disturb, and the gloom and 
darkness of a watery grave lighted by that hope, 
which speaks of eternal life. 



15 



I cannot but remark also, that although some 
families of our city are called to participate most 
deeply in this calamity, families for whose mourn- 
ful bereavements we feel, and would express, a most 
tender and respectful sympathy, we have yet rea- 
son for gratitude as a community, that so few of us 
have a direct share in this sad event. Those who 
are taken from us w 7 ere worthy, honorable and be- 
loved, so far as known. To kindred and friends, 
their death has thrown an abiding shadow over life. 
Seldom, however, does a boat pass through the 
Sound, that is not more richly freighted, in numbers 
at least, with our own citizens ; seldom could such 
an accident have happened and not have left more of 
our own dwellings desolate. 

But though so few were connected with us, they 
were all connected with others. " They dwelt 
among their kindred." Of that company there was 
not one, however humble or obscure, perfectly soli- 
tary and isolated in the world, not one, to whom the 
heart of some other one was not knit by some strong 
cord, some tender tie of interest and affection. No 
one dieth or can die to himself alone. He cannot, by 
sin or by solitude, so cut himself off from all connex- 
ion or intercourse, with his race, that no one shall 
notice or lament his death. Let him fix his residence 
in the wildest fastnesses of the mountains, that resi- 
dence will sometimes be deserted. The strong, inex- 
tinguishable impulses of humanity will sometimes 



16 



bring him back to the abodes of men. Curiosity will, 
at intervals, lead a stranger to his hut, and a kind prov- 
idence, as many instances in the past illustrate, will so 
order it, that when disease finds its way to his dwell- 
ing, human aid shall follow its steps, human sympa- 
thy, unexpected yet gratefully received, shall minis- 
ter to his wasting strength, and hollow in kindness, 
his solitary grave. Let him plunge into the abyss of 
sin, let him steep himself in crime, and die in igno- 
miny, it can not be even then, that he will die to 
himself alone. The mother, that bore him, will 
mourn for the sinner because he is her son. The 
wife, whose love can not change, though the joy, 
that encircled it, is withered and crushed, will yet 
weep in bitterness and sorrow, and the children will 
lament for the father, though his memory be cover- 
ed with shame. No one can die to himself. Let 
his age or station, his character or condition be what 
it may, so long as he lives, he is linked to his race, 
and whenever and however he may die, some heart 
shall hallow his memory and deplore his loss. Every 
individual of that company then had a home, some 
spot where his presence shed gladness and comfort, 
and where tender affections or fond hopes rested 
upon him The cases, that are especially known to 
us, are of peculiar and distressing sadness. It may 
be that all are equally calamitous and mournful. 
Wide-spread is the sorrow then caused by this dis- 
aster ; many tearful eyes and aching hearts are 



17 



turned to that fearful scene. Many families are 
made desolate, many are left widowed and fatherless, 
deprived of the power that protected, the wisdom 
that guided, the love that blessed and made them 
happy. Let our hearts yearn for them, let our pray- 
ers go up for them, that God, who is as rich in 
mercy, as he is inscrutable in the ways of his provi- 
dence, may give that support and consolation, which 
He only can impart. 

But I confess, my friends, I hesitate not to say, 
that after the first emotions of horror and pity, excit- 
ed by this event, the thought, the feeling that is up- 
permost in my own mind is, indignation ; yes, I will 
use that word though it be a strong one, indignation 
at the gross recklessness or carelessless, which caused 
this destruction of human life and produced this wide 
suffering, — and indignation also at the feeble and 
inefficient legislation, that permits, and has for years 
permitted, these disasters to occur throughout our 
waters, without a just rebuke or an adequate re- 
straint in the laws. I have read the statement pub- 
lished by the agent of this ill-fated boat. I am will- 
ing to admit and believe that every word of that 
statement is true. I admit also that those, whose 
business it was to prevent by carefulness this acci- 
dent, are themselves among the sufferers, and that 
the inference is, that they would not wantonly peril 
their own lives. They are dead, — I would respect 
the memory of the dead, — but I must plead, and I feel 



18 



constrained to plead for the rights, the protection, 
the security of the living. Admitting all that has 
been, or can be said in extenuation, the simple facts 
of the case, so far as known, especially when taken in 
connexion with the circumstance that this self-same boat 
has unquestionably been on fire once, rumor says two 
or three times, ivilhin the last few weeks, it seems to 
me, that these facts are enough to prove that a sol- 
emn duty, a fearful responsibility was neglected 
somewhere by some one, enough to sustain the opin- 
ion, widely prevalent, that this awful disaster is to 
be attributed, either to the selfishness and cupidity 
of the owners, who, greedy of gain, insisted upon 
overloading their boat with a dangerous and inflam- 
mable freight, or to the culpable carelessness, the 
utter inattention of the master and officers, in not 
stowing that freight securely, in not watching ever 
and constantly, with an eagle eye, the condition and 
safety of the vessel, to which hundreds had entrusted 
their lives. 

The simple fact that such an accident, on such a 
night, occurred, is in itself presumptive evidence of 
carelessness or incompetence on the part of some 
one. At any rate, all the circumstances of the case 
ought to be thoroughly investigated, every thing that 
can be gathered, if anything can be gathered from the 
survivers, touching the origin and early progress of 
the fire, ought to be made known, to satisfy the pub- 
lic curiosity, to relieve the public anxiety. If this 



19 



investigation makes against the owners or mana- 
gers, the truth ought not to be winked out of sight. 
It ought not to be hushed up, and kept back, and 
passed over. It is a misplaced charity to do it. 
We are false to our own interests and safety, to the 
interest and safety of all, in doing it. It ought to be 
spoken out, to be urged and insisted upon, boldly and 
plainly. It ought to be proclaimed trumpet-tongued. 
throughout the length and breadth of the land, till it 
reaches the halls of Congress, calls off the members 
from their petty party animosities, their disgraceful 
personal contentions, and wakes up the government 
from its inertness, its epicurean repose, a repose of ap- 
parent indifference to those, whose safety it ought to 
guard, whose lives it ought to protect, — till it causes 
the supreme power of the land to legislate, wisely and 
efficiently, for one of the most important interests of 
the people, and to do, not something, but everything 
requisite, to check an evil that cries aloud for redress. 

The destruction of human life in the United States, 
during the last ten years, by accidents and disas- 
ters in the public conveyances, is, I had almost said, 
beyond computation. It is utterly unparalleled in 
the history of the world. It confirms, what all for- 
eigners and travellers assert, that there is no coun- 
try upon earth, where the proprietors, managers and 
conductors of these public conveyances, are so little 
responsible, so slightly amenable to the law, so far 
beyond the reach of public rebuke or public punish- 



2( 



in cut ; and the fearful catastrophe of the past week, 
as well as many others that might be collected from 
the history of the past year, are sufficient evidence 
that the late act of Congress, as was anticipated, has 
proved utterly inadequate and inefficient, and that 
something more strong, peremptory and binding is 
necessary, to protect the immense amount of life and 
property, daily and hourly exposed upon our high- 
ways and our waters. 

I call upon you therefore, as merchants, who have 
large interests at stake in this matter, I call upon 
you as men, and citizens, who cannot behold with 
indifference the sufferings of your fellow men, to 
let your influence be felt, let your voice be heard 
in this thing, let it go forth to swell the power 
of that great sovereign, Public Opinion, till it de- 
mands and insists upon ennactments, that shall meet 
the necessities of the case. 

But, my friends, we are christians as well as men, 
believers in God and his providence, and it becomes 
us to look up from the secondary cause, that produced, 
to the great First Cause, that permitted and overruled 
this disaster. While it seems to us, that it may be 
traced to the carelessness of man, we cannot doubt 
that God, in the inscrutable depths of his wisdom, 
permitted it. The Infinite Spirit of the universe 
was not absent from that spot on that awful night. 
He, in whose hands is the breath of every living 
soul, who counts the hairs of our head and numbers 



21 



the beatings of our pulse, He was nigh unto each 
and all of that suffering band, — to hear their prayers, 
and to receive their spirits to the bosom of his love. 

We cannot comprehend all the purposes of his 
providence. We cannot fathom his councils, "whose 
ways are not our ways, whose thoughts are above our 
thoughts." But we have reason to believe, that a 
wise and gracious design presides over every event, 
however dark and mysterious in its aspects ; from 
every event also, even from that fearful scene of 
suffering and death, we can gather lessons of duty and 
instruction. It speaks to us all of our dependence 
upon God, and of the worth of that calm and holy 
trust in Him, which is the property only of the faith- 
ful and devout soul. It enforces also social duty. 
It bids us keep our hearts warm and our sympathies 
active, our affections strong, pure, tender, and to do 
what we can to make happy those, who are bound 
to us by close and tender ties ; for we know not 
how soon they may be removed from our presence. 
We know not how soon or how suddenly they may 
be cut down, and placed beyond the reach of our 
love or our neglect. 

Ah ! if in that perished company there were any, 
who had parted in coldness or unkindness from their 
friends, any, who had given pain, or brought disap- 
pointment to fond and trusting hearts, by neglect or 
indifference, by harsh words, or selfish acts, how 
must the memory of these have oppressed their spi- 



22 



rits, as they thought of passing into the presence of 
that Master and Judge, who has said " By this shall 
all men know that ye are my disciples if ye have 
love one toward another." What would they have 
given, at that moment, for opportunity to return 
the affection they had so often slighted, to recall 
every cold look, every angry word, every hour marked 
by a selfish indifference to others ? Let this event 
then speak to our consciences on this point. Let 
there be no longer any unkindness in our hearts, or 
in our conduct. 

"While yet we live scarce one short hour perhaps, 
Between us all let there be peace," 

and not peace only, but love, sympathy, kindness, 
a strong and abiding affection, that shall spread a joy 
and gladness over life and take from death all bitter 
and painful memories. 

Let it speak to us also of that, which is so often 
urged , so seldom regarded, the utter uncertainty 
and insecurity of human life. How true it is, and how 
blessed for us that it is true, that we know not what 
a day, nay ! not what a moment may bring forth ; 
that though there may be but a step between us and 
death, an impenetrable curtain, that no mortal vision 
can pierce, and only time lift up, conceals that step 
from us. Of those, whose untimely fate has excited 
such universal sympathy, many probably on the last 
Sabbath went up to the sanctuary of worship in 



23 



devout gladness and gratitude. In firm health, with 
bright hopes, vigorous, active, useful, they anticipated 
death on the morrow, as little as we do now. Yet 
the morrow's sun is the last which they behold on 
earth. 

And w T ho can tell what the morrow will bring to 
us ? Who can say, as he passes forth, whether he 
shall ever re-enter these doors ? Who has an armor 
of adamant, that death cannot pierce, or a talisman to 
bid misfortune stay its blow ? No one ! 

These lips may be cold in death, the voice, that is 
now speaking, may be hushed in everlasting silence, 
ere the day returns, which gathers us within these 
consecrated walls. Even now the unseen arm of 
death, casting no forerunning shadow, and known 
only when it falls, may be uplifted, to descend upon 
some one who hears me. The hoary head of age, 
the busy and anxious heart of manhood, or the fair 
cheek and persuasive lips of early beauty, may be its 
victim. Let us feel this uncertainty of life. The 
voice God's providence, speaking in the flames of 
that burning ship, is sounding in our ears "Be ye 
also ready," — let it reach and touch our hearts. 



I 



24 



NOTE. 



It is worthy of record and acknowledgement, and the author of this dis- 
course is ready to bear his humble testimony to the fact, that the steam boats 
on Long Tsland Sound have, till recently, been in general managed with distin- 
guished skill and care, and all necessary, nay, even a scrupulous attention 
paid to the safety and comfort of the passengers. Of late years, however, the 
growing competition, and the increased facilities for carrying freight, afforded 
by the rail roads to Providence and Stonington, have produced an unfavorable 
change, and taken from the boats the high character for safety and comfort 
that once attached to them. They are now, it is said, nlmost invariably 
overloaded, the passengers all but crowded dut by the freight, and their com- 
fort and safety made apparently a secondary consideration. We have sepa- 
rate trains for freight on our rail roads ; why should we not have separate boats 
for freight on our waters ? If steam boats, for passengers exclusively or princi- 
pally, could not be supported at the present rate of fare, let it be increased. 
Until the fate of the Lexington is forgotten, most persons will be willing to 
pay something extra if they can be insured a safe, comfortable passage. It is 
to be hoped that this melancholy catastrophe will direct public attention to the 
subject, so that the reckless exposure of human life, which has marked some 
portions of the country, may never become one of the features of travelling in 
New England, and proper means be taken and efforts made, to provide against 
the recurrence of any similar disaster. 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: May 2006 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 

1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724) 779-2111 



croc 

•a 

«c< 

c ^c 

< <c: - . 

C<C 

. ' <C? 

c c 

CC « 

C c 



- 

- ^ Cg< 

C <: 

Ccc 
^ Cc< 

- esse 
c c. 

c c 
. C « 
c;cc- 

c cc 

C\ cc 

- Ccc 

<3r.cc 
<? c < 



^ *k % 

-r ^-. • _^r. «C c; 
^ d «T C < 



«3CC<r 

OCc<c 

.or* <r 
orc<r 
<:< c 

^c c < 

cc c < 

ccc cj 

. cc c < 

, ccc h 

cc c 

c « c , c: 
■ S c <c 

«•<. or. 



If 



; si 

" c c \ • 

v: Cc ^ .• 

jc:c c 

• ^.cc. 

■ ^t. c 

C 'c<Ci 



II 

<«<•<.* < < 

C^< «. 

c<« <« f- < 
^c < 

c ( « ... c . 

' c c Cs - <St .^ 



I' c c. c: >«ac 

P ST : c^ cr-Sr 



c" <3fec^ ^^^<rastj c 

E' - sua 

^<:^^ == *r/^ c C"<c<C- < 

5 < <ssc < <r 



<r c<: 

<c< < <:. 

<C c < <T < 
<C< < < < 

<c< - <: 
cc c<:' c 

" <c d ' c 

« ' < c < c 

« oc < C 
< - < < <■ < 
<CC ■ ' c 

ccc <^ c 

ccc < C 

cc«rc c d 

CCT*' C - <T <S 

< <C 1 CC <L' 

c c <'f <L 

f-c c dv . 

< c '* C <1 

c<< c < <1 

< • c/ <• <r 

cc« c - c 
- c < C 

< • C^ c C 
, c <- C c c 

te < < C < <iC 

— c c ,. C c 

- ' ' c; c- r- <:: 

=. * ' • <r c c <z 



^«ctLc 

c c. 

c c 



c «z:<r "-en 



<3C3- 

^ c<;< = 

C<T 

- < <. ■ 

c< ^ < 
^c <- 

<.. <m 

c cc 

CQ E CC 



dec 



^c ^ 



CSC 

:Cc:Cl 

. . Cc : Cl 

- <r <: 



c ^.-d 

f ^3«r«< 



^ *C7 <V<lc< 
<- C <3C 1 • < 



^v^^ : < c «g^ <le<*c:<: < 

^li^Ci.Cte^K -C c v < 
v ^-.^^C4.< c <3t t ,< <: c c <• 
c ^^^S^,<iC --«s3K3c, <> <• < c ^ 

• c *csc«fc -c - cca <: 



